


The Oak King

by whichclothes



Series: Green Man [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As winter turns to spring, something strange is going on with Xander. This is a sequel to The Wild Hunt but can be read on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story relies on one particular version of pagan and Wiccan traditions. I realize that other versions of the tradition do exist and that interpretations may vary. Many thanks to my lovely beta, silk_labyrinth. Uses the angst_bingo prompt "possession."

** The Oak King **

** One **

Spike wasn’t brooding. His wanker of a sire brooded—even now that he had a heartbeat and Buffy was reading _Brides_ magazine. Every time Angel frowned, Spike reminded him that his now-human face was going to set like that, all wrinkles and gloom; and then Buffy would punch Spike’s arm and Rupert would sigh and Willow would ignore the entire proceedings and Xander would snigger. But brooding was not Spike’s style. He was good at gleeful or wicked or lovelorn, and he might have skidded into angsty or despairing now and then, but he didn’t brood.

He sometimes found himself yearning, though.

And that’s what he was doing now: peeking longingly between his living room curtains, out into the bright sunshine. It was one of those balmy March days that arrive like a gift, the snow all melted, the air warm enough for shirtsleeves, the trees budding promisingly. Girls dragged their short skirts from the depths of their closets and painted their toenails again, blokes washed the sand and salt from their cars, children finally tried out the new bicycles they’d been given for Christmas. Spike was never certain what Mother Nature intended by these days: Were they a sort of practical joke, an attempt to lull people into complacency before throwing another blizzard or two at them? Or were they a mercy, a bit of comfort to keep Midwesterners from fatal cases of cabin fever?

One thing was certain. For a vampire with a soul, these days were torture. He could hide carefully in the darkness of his flat, peering out at the University of Nebraska students who were kicking a ball around the building’s car park. He could pretend that the previous night, after he and the Scoobies had defeated a nest of D’renzi demons, his sharp hearing hadn’t noticed the humans whispering something about a picnic in the park this afternoon. He could try not to think about the fact that the days were getting longer, that soon there would be more hours of daylight than night, that he’d be confined for ever greater lengths of time within the two rooms of his home. And he could yearn.

When someone pounded on his door he startled, but he regained his composure by the time he unfastened the locks. He had to work hard to hide a smile when he saw who was there. “Whatta you want, Harris?” he growled.

Xander’s grin was as bright as the sun. He was clutching a paper grocery sack in his arms and he pushed right by Spike and into the flat. “I’m happy to see you too, Fang.” The man smelled like fresh grass; Spike hoped he wasn’t being too obvious about taking in the scent of him.

But Xander barged right through the room like he owned the place and dropped his bag onto the kitchen table with a _thunk_. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt that sported the logo of the grocery store he managed, a pair of jeans cut down to shorts, and flip-flops. Even though this was the first warm day for months, his skin was still tanned. 

Spike glared. “Whatever you want me to fight, you’ll have to wait until sunset.”

“Nothing to fight today, my good vampire.”

Again, Spike had to hide the flash of pleasure that shot through him. He raised an eyebrow. “You don't need to take advantage of my furnace today.” Ever since the night of the solstice, Xander had been dropping by once a week or so, bearing horrible DVDs and snacks, complaining about the drafts in the under-insulated pile of lumber that served for his house. Spike would pretend to be put out by the intrusions, but in fact he rather enjoyed the company. Xander was funny and appreciated Spike’s pop culture references. Xander freely shared whatever greasy or sugary culinary abominations he brought with him. He listened contentedly when Spike found himself reminiscing about adventures long past. And he was, Spike had to admit, easy on the eyes. 

Ever since the winter solstice, when Xander had enthusiastically joined the Great Hunt like someone who’d ridden those great black horses before, Spike had found himself intrigued by the puzzle of him.They hadn’t spoken about the Hunt again, and Spike would almost have thought it had been a dream, except that every once in a while he caught a flash of green in Xander’s remaining eye, something as feral as Spike’s own demon. Even wilder, perhaps.

“Nope, no need for heat today,” Xander said, interrupting Spike’s brief reverie. “If it keeps up like this, pretty soon I’ll be coming over to mooch off your AC. You do have central air, right? I just have an asthmatic window box.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“There’s still plenty of winter left,” Spike answered with a scowl, although he was actually happy to hear the implication of more visits in the future.

“Nah, just a little bit. Spring’s just around the corner.” There! There was that spark of green again, and then it was hidden as Xander bent his head to rummage about in the grocery sack.

“If it’s not for fighting or climate control, why are you here?” asked Spike.

Xander raised his head, grinning, then pulled his hand out of the bag. He was holding a plastic tub containing what Spike assumed to be some sort of food. “Picnic.”

Spike blinked. “Say again.”

“Picnic. It’s an ancient American custom involving sandwiches and ants.” Xander pulled more items out of the bag: some paper-wrapped squares, a bag of crisps, a packet of something chocolate, and a six-pack of Budweiser. He also produced some plastic cutlery, paper plates, and a red blanket. “No bitching about the beer, either. Picnics require cheap American shit in cans. Nothing microbrewed and absolutely nothing imported.”

Was this some new way to torment the vampire? Spike waved his hand towards the drapery-covered window. “ ’T’s two in the afternoon.”

“One fifty-three, actually.”

“Won’t be dark for over five hours.”

“At night you do barbecues or campfires. Picnics are for daytime.” 

While Spike stood, bemused, Xander shook out the blanket—in ubiquitous Cornhusker red and white—and spread it on the carpet. He carefully arranged the food and other supplies on top, as if it mattered where each item went. When he was finished, he rubbed his head and looked up at Spike with a sheepish smile. “I was gonna get you blood, but by the time I asked Gus the butcher, he’d already dumped it all. The roast beef on your sandwich is really rare, though.”

“All right,” Spike replied cautiously, still not sure what Xander was up to. 

But then Xander kicked off his flip-flops, collapsed onto the blanket with his legs crossed in front of him, and looked expectantly at Spike. “Have a seat. I won’t bite.”

Spike decided to play along. He unlaced his boots and set them aside before seating himself opposite Xander. Xander smiled happily and handed him a paper plate with a sandwich on it. Spike took the plate and poked at the food with one fingertip.

“Is it okay?” asked Xander. “I got it without mustard. Wasn’t sure if you were a mustard fan. I’m not, and I figured it’s better for somebody pro-mustard to live without than somebody anti to get stuck with it.”

He seemed so earnest in his babble that Spike couldn’t help but chuckle and take a big bite. “ ’S lovely,” he said with his mouth full.

Xander looked slightly relieved as he popped open a can of beer. “Good. Um, help yourself to the chips if you want. And the potato salad. It’s Marian the deli manager’s own recipe and it’s really good.”

Spike was fairly certain he had never eaten potato salad and it didn’t look especially appetizing, but he decided to humor the boy by trying a spoonful. It wasn’t bad, he concluded. Probably not something he’d choose to eat—he tended towards food with more spice or crunch—but it wouldn’t dust him. Besides, Xander seemed happy that he was eating it, and Xander’s happiness made Spike happy, which was just bloody stupid but since when did Spike have any control over his emotions?

For several moments, the only sounds the two of them made were chewing and swallowing. When Xander grabbed a handful of crisps, the bag’s rattling seemed very loud.

“What’s all this for, then?” Spike finally asked. He didn’t meet Xander’s eye as he spoke.

“Dunno. I thought a picnic would be fun. Sort of a celebration of the return of nice weather.”

“Why didn’t you join the others?”

Xander made a face. “I _knew_ you were listening. You’d think at least Angel would remember you’re all with the super hearing.” He sighed. “They’re still all being … couply. Lovey-dovey. I just know their day’s gonna involve romantic hand-holding and loving eye-staring and … stuff. And frankly, I get enough of that when we’re on patrol. Did you hear what Buffy called Angel when she was checking him out for wounds last night?”

Now it was Spike’s turn to grimace. “Sweetie-bear.” And Angel had responded with something equally horrible in Gaelic.

“Right. So I decided a lunch with just us guys would be better. You’re never gonna call me sweetie-bear.”

“If I do, you can stake me,” Spike replied.

“If you do, I will.” Xander curled the corners of his mouth upward before taking a swig of beer. When he was finished, he added, almost quietly, “Besides, I kinda wanted to celebrate today.”

“Celebrate what?” Spike asked with a tilt of his head.

“It’s … nothing. No big deal. I mean, it’s kind of a big deal to _me_ , but none of them are gonna care, ’cause it’s not like it’s world-saveage or anything. I guess they’d probably _pretend_ to care but I’d know they were just sort of humoring me— _Oh, that Xander, isn’t he sort of cutely pathetic_ —and I don’t want to be humored. That’s why I wanted to celebrate with you, ’cause you might call me a lot of names in British but you won’t humor me.”

It took Spike a few moments to process the deluge of words, and then another few to process his own emotions in response. Xander had just admitted that he preferred Spike’s company to that of his friends, that it was Spike he had chosen for sharing his news. “What are we celebrating?” Spike asked, more gently than he expected.

“I got a promotion and a big raise today,” Xander responded with an odd mixture of pride and hesitation. “As of next week when Rhonda retires, I’m the new assistant head manager. That means I’m number two in charge of the whole store. Which … okay, really doesn’t sound like much when I say it out loud, it’s not the Chosen One or a super witch or—”

“But you earned it yourself,” Spike interrupted.

Xander’s answering smile was a bit surprised. “I did.”

“How?”

“It’s no big—”

“Stop minimizing it and spit it out already.”

“There used to be a restaurant next door to us—Wok Don’t Run—and it went out of business in November. They had really crappy food. So at the very beginning of January I suggested to Mr. Mendoza—he’s the head honcho at work—that we could take over the space and turn it into a garden center. We could sell pots and seeds and stuff inside, and when it warms up enough we could fence off a little of the parking lot for plants. He decided to give it a try.” This time, Xander’s smile was radiant. “He even let me plan the space and do most of the ordering.”

“Didn’t know you were such a horticultural expert,” Spike observed.

“I’m not. But … I don’t know. I read a few books and magazines and stuff and it turned out they were pretty interesting.” His hair was already a mess and he tangled it more with his fingertips.

“And your garden center is looking to be a success.”

“It is! We’ve been making big bucks already, and this morning you had to practically fight your way through the crowds. Mr. Mendoza said it’s increasing store profits overall ’cause people stop in for a bag of fertilizer and end up hitting the grocery store while they’re at it. Sometimes a full shop, but lots of impulse purchases like cookies and Doritos and magazines.”

Spike gestured at him, scattering crumbs from the half-eaten sandwich he still held. “You’re not too half-witted when you set your mind to something.”

Xander beamed as if this was the nicest compliment he’d received in ages.

When the picnic was over, Xander surprised Spike again by cleaning up the debris and shoving it all back into his paper sack. He stood uncertainly after that, scratching his head nervously, and Spike decided he didn’t want the boy to leave yet. “Watch some telly with me?” Spike asked gruffly.

“As long as it’s not a soap opera.”

“Or anything with phasers and teleporting.”

“No Oprah or Ellen.”

Spike nodded. “And no sports unless it’s football. _Real_ footy, not the shite with the helmets and pads.”

They ended up sharing Spike’s small couch, watching Animal Planet. First something involving swamps and loads of alligators, which led them both to conclude that Spike’s fangs were nicer. Then a different show came on, something involving beasts killing each other on the Serengeti, and Xander leaned forward to watch avidly. Sometimes when a fatal blow was dealt, he licked his lips.

Then the adverts came on and Xander leaned back against the cushions again.

“Erm, Xander,” Spike began.

“Yeah?”

“About what happened on solstice night …”

“That was fun!” Most definitely that green spark, just for a moment.

“It was. But … wouldn’t have reckoned you’d enjoy it so much.”

Xander scratched at his scalp. “Um, yeah. It was … Did anyone ever tell you about the hyena?”

For a moment Spike hadn’t any idea what he was talking about, and then he recalled something Buffy had once mentioned in passing. “Elemental. Possessed you once, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” More scratching. “Except maybe the past tense isn’t entirely appropriate.”

Spike felt his eyebrows fly up. “It’s still in there?”

Xander stopped scratching and shrugged. “Sort of. Not exactly. I’m not gonna eat raw piglets or anything. But she sort of … I don’t know the words for it. She left an impression in me. Like … my Uncle Rory had this dog, right? Big old lab-shepherd-something mutt. Buddy. Buddy slept in a bed in my uncle’s garage, and even when Buddy wasn’t actually _in_ the bed you could tell he’d been there, ’cause it was covered in fur and dried slobber and pieces of kibble, and ‘cause it sort of held his shape.” He stopped and looked at Spike quizzically, clearly hoping Spike would understand.

“So you have hyena spirit spit in your head.”

“Something like that.” He sighed. “Mostly I don’t even notice it, but when the Hunt showed up …”

“It struck a chord with you.” Spike could understand that; his own demon had reveled in the elation of it.

“Yeah.” Xander looked down at his hands, which were curled in his lap. “And if you could avoid mentioning this to anyone, I’d appreciate it. Giles sort of knows, and I think maybe Will has a clue—she looks at me funny now and then and mutters something about life forces—but she never pushes it. But Buffy—”

“Won’t tell a soul,” Spike reassured him, and was rewarded with a bright smile. Then it struck him that Xander trusted him to keep his word, and he grinned right back.  
  
[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/318039.html)


	2. Chapter 2

** Two **

Somehow, Spike couldn’t keep his eyes off Xander. He told himself he was just distracted by the constant scratching—the boy really needed a new brand of dandruff shampoo—or looking for signs of that hyena. But it was more than that. Something about the way Xander slouched in Rupert’s armchair, legs spread, made Spike’s mouth water, and his slightly curled lips seemed to beg for kissing. As for the tanned skin of Xander’s arms, Spike kept finding himself imagining what it would feel like to have those arms around him, holding him tight.

He snorted so loudly that Rupert paused in his lecturing to glare. “Is there something amusing about a horde of Trinekli demons, Spike? Please, share with the class.”

“Just wondering how you lot ever manage to kill anything, unless you talk them to death.”

“This is a rather delicate operation. These demons have venom, you see, and—”

“Nothing delicate about it. We go in, we kill ’em. I go home and get pissed. End of story.”

Rupert rolled his eyes and Angel and Buffy yelled at him, but Xander turned his head and grinned. Spike was grateful he was sitting at the kitchen table; he reached underneath and adjusted himself as much as his position and tight jeans would allow, all the while silently chiding himself. Why in all hells was he suddenly panting after Xander Harris? Was Spike so desperate for the crumbs of companionship the boy had given him lately? And what would happen to their fledgling friendship if Xander realized that Spike was imagining what it would feel like to sink his cock into all that heat, or have the boy’s hot cock sink into him? As far as Spike knew, Xander didn’t fancy blokes, and would probably panic at the idea of any male touching him, let alone an undead one.

This time, Spike interrupted the lecture with a sigh.

He was relieved when the group of them left Rupert’s house a short time afterward, heading on foot to the state fairgrounds. Contrary to Spike’s expectations, the fair weather had held and the evening was warm enough for the humans to be wearing light coats. “Spring,” Xander said as he walked beside Spike, almost as if he’d read Spike’s mind. He pointed at some flowers near the foundations of a house they passed. “Lenten rose and crocuses. Tulips and daffodils will be next.”

“You really have been doing your gardening research.”

“I guess I’m better at that than the demon stuff. If we come up against an _Rudbeckia_ monster I’m all set.”

Somehow the two of them had fallen to the rear of the party, and although the sidewalk was fairly wide, they were walking close enough to bump shoulders now and then. Xander didn’t seem to mind, and every touch sent a frisson down Spike’s spine.

“I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Xander announced after a few blocks.

“Good on you.”

“So I don’t have to turn in right away when we’re done tonight.”

“And?”

“And I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place for a while. Hang out.” Xander said the words casually, as if he didn’t especially care about Spike’s response. But he’d bothered to issue the invitation, and that was significant enough. The two of them hadn’t spent any time together since they’d had their picnic five days earlier, and Spike had been wondering whether the boy was regretting the confidence he’d divulged. Perhaps not, though; perhaps he’d simply been busy with his increased duties at work.

“Might do,” Spike answered, hoping he matched Xander’s nonchalance.

Xander didn’t answer but his pace picked up a bit, as if he were eager to get the demon business over with.

A locked chain-link fence barred access to the fairgrounds. The Slayer and Spike would have no trouble scaling the fence despite the barbed wire on top, but the rest of the party would be blocked. Fortunately, Rupert was carrying an axe, which Buffy used to break the lock.

The last time Spike had been in this area was the previous August while the fair was going on. He knew from his own experiences that if there were any vampires in town they’d take advantage of the opportunity to troll the young and distracted crowds, picking out the tastiest bits of half-naked flesh the way a gourmet might choose just the right truffle. In August the grounds had been packed with people, and the sweltering air smelled of fried foods and sugar and sweat.

But now the fairgrounds was like a ghost town, although his sensitive nose could still catch the ghostly odors of cattle long since gone for steaks and burgers. Buffy tersely ordered them to fan out in pairs; Spike had to disguise his pleasure when he ended up with Xander as a partner. Xander followed amiably enough as Spike led them behind a row of low metal buildings.

“I hate carnivals,” Xander volunteered in a loud whisper as they passed a wooden sign bearing a faded depiction of dodge-‘em cars and cotton candy.

“Why? The ferris wheel make your tummy queasy?”

“Actually, yes. And they always play bad ’80s music really loud, and I suck at all the games ’cause my aim’s always off, and there are clowns.” He shuddered.

“You face down monsters on a nightly basis—you’ve dated several, as I recall—and some bloke in face paint scares you?”

“At least demons tend to be pretty honest about their bloodthirstiness. Clowns are just … creepy. Anyway, it’s a phobia. It’s not supposed to make sense.” Xander gave a gentle punch to Spike’s upper arm. “C’mon. I bet you have an irrational fear of something too. What is it? Snakes? The number thirteen? Public speaking?”

“Vampire, berk. Things fear _me_.”

Xander kicked at a wad of half-decayed plastic sheeting. “Yeah, yeah. Big bad. But I bet _something_ makes you shiver when it goes bump in the day.”

A vivid image appeared in Spike’s mind of Xander bumping into him, on a bed, naked. Spike cleared his throat. “Don’t much fancy airplanes,” he admitted.

“Not a fan of lukewarm food on a tray and in-flight movies?”

“Can’t help but wonder whether a vampire might survive a plunge from thirty thousand feet, and what sort of shape his body would be in if he did.”

Xander paused for a moment, obviously to consider Spike’s words. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense. But that means it’s not a true phobia.” He continued walking again, but not before elbowing Spike in the side. “C’mon. Give.”

Spike sighed loudly. The boy had trusted him with a secret; maybe it was time to reciprocate. “Wee Willie Winkie.”

That brought Xander to a full stop. “What?”

“Wee Willie Winkie. The nursery rhyme, yeah? ‘Tapping at the window, crying at the lock …’ My mum used to recite it to me when I was very small and wouldn’t settle in my bed. I expect she thought it was funny, my name being William and all, but I was terrified of some wanker wandering up the stairs in his nightgown, and too embarrassed to tell her so. Used to have nightmares about him.” He shook his head and then added, firmly, “Outgrew it when I was seven or eight, of course.”

“Of course,” Xander replied with mock seriousness, and then he snorted a laugh. Spike was slightly hurt, and was going to point out that his fear was less daft than wetting your knickers over a sodding clown, but Xander set a hand on Spike’s shoulder and waggled his eyebrows. “Back when you were living in my basement? I saw Willie’s winkie and it wasn’t remotely wee.”

Spike was still trying to formulate an appropriate response—could that truly have been an invitation he’d sensed in the boy’s smile?—when shouts sounded in the distance. Spike unsheathed his sword, Xander pulled his knife from his boot, and they both sprinted across the hard-packed ground.

Spike arrived well before Xander, of course, and discovered the fight already in progress. The Trinekli were tall, solid brutes with bumpy skin. They wore some sort of armor made of thick leather, which made Spike wonder for a moment why the Scoobies never went into battle similarly protected—the more human of the bunch, at any rate. The demons were unarmed but had long, sharp claws that oozed greenish liquid. According to the Watcher, the liquid was toxic to humans in large enough doses. He didn’t know whether it would harm a vampire. There were a half dozen of the demons and they were busily trying to tear the Scoobies to pieces.

With a roar, Spike changed face and rushed into the fray. The sword was a useful weapon, and it kept him out of reach of those talons, but he also had to take care not to accidentally lop off any of his allies’ important bits. He also had to keep out of the way of Angel’s sword and Rupert’s axe, of the Slayer’s feet and hands, and of the little puffs of deadly magic Willow was slinging every few moments. Then there was a blur of motion near Spike’s right side and a yelp of pain, and he realized that Xander had joined them.

“Get away!” Spike yelled as he ducked the swing of a demon’s hand. With only the knife as a weapon, Xander was getting much too close to those dangerous claws, and his limited range of vision was apt to get him gutted. But Xander either didn’t hear Spike’s warning through the general din, or else chose to ignore it, and he yelped again as Angel trod on his foot.

Over the past several years Spike had become accustomed to fighting alongside others. In fact, with Buffy and Angel especially he’d been able to work out a few tandem moves. They watched one another’s backs too, and that was nice. But he knew the Slayer was as good a fighter as he was, and that Angel retained two centuries of fighting experience that served him well despite his merely human strength, and the others had their own skills. So he didn’t worry too much about keeping an eye out for their safety. He’d never worried that much about Xander either, at least not until recently, but now Spike was suddenly so worried about the boy’s safety that one of the Trinekli took him unaware, raking its claws through Spike’s duster sleeve and into his bicep. It bloody _hurt_ and, his arm gone rapidly nerveless, he dropped his sword.

He couldn’t leave the battle, however. The demons were gaining ground and the humans were tiring. And Xander was still there, a few yards to Spike’s right, stabbing a Trinekli’s thigh. As Spike watched in horror—still grappling with the demon that had disarmed him—Xander’s demon scraped its claws against Xander’s back, ripping his jacket to tatters.

“Xander!” Spike screamed. He leapt away from his demon, delivering a good kick in the process to where he hoped its bollocks might be, and launched himself at Xander’s antagonist. That had the happy effect of saving Xander from further mauling, but then Spike was facing the monster’s attack instead, and with his good arm useless. Fine, he thought. At least he was more durable than his boy, and if he was dusted tonight it would be for a good cause. 

And dusting seemed like a definite possibility as Spike sank his fangs into the tough skin of the Trinekli’s throat—tasted like shite—and another of the beasts hooked its talons into the meat of Spike’s right thigh. He collapsed as his leg went numb, landing awkwardly on his back.

The two demons towered over him. Then one of them shrieked and twisted as something hit it from behind. But the other pinned Spike in place with one heavy foot, stooped, and aimed its claws at his face. Spike took a deep breath and prepared to do as much damage as possible before the end.

But then the demon’s entire body jerked and it fell backwards, away from him. Before Spike could determine what was happening someone had seized him under the armpits and was dragging him away. He rolled his head back to see his savior. “Xander?” he said in confusion, just as Xander released him and knelt at his side. The boy was splattered in blood and demon goo and his eye patch had been knocked askew, but he appeared to be moving well. His brows were drawn together with concern.

“Are you okay, Spike?”

“Peachy. But what …” He struggled to get upright enough to see what was happening. The sounds of the battle had changed.

Xander seemed to realize what Spike meant to do, because he walked behind Spike and hauled at his arms until Spike was more or less sitting, his upper body propped against Xander’s legs.

“What the fuck?” Spike exclaimed when his view was clear.

The fighting had stopped. The other Scoobies had scrambled back, forming a rough circle around the demons. And the demons themselves, well … they were in the process of being entwined. It took Spike several moments to determine exactly what was trapping the Trinekli. It looked like a rose bramble was growing rapidly, twisting long thorny branches about the demons’ arms and legs and torsos, and that was ridiculous. Except there were bright pink flowers as well, their scent strong in the night air—it truly _was_ a bramble, and a bloody strong one at that. Within minutes the demons were completely incapacitated. Rupert, Angel, and Buffy made short work of them then, slicing off the beasts’ heads cleanly, Buffy using Spike’s sword. 

Everyone stood—except for Spike, who sat—staring at the corpses and trying to catch their breath.

“That was a really smart trick, Willow,” Buffy finally said. “I think we definitely oughtta remember that one in the future.”

Willow looked confused. “But … but … I didn’t … That wasn’t me.”

Everybody looked at Rupert instead. He held his hands up and shook his head. “Nor I.”

“So,” Buffy said. “There just happened to be a superfast, spontaneously growing, demon-tying bush, right when and where we needed it.”

“I say don’t look your gift bush in the mouth,” said Xander.

And then when it seemed that the lot of them were destined to spend the rest of the night standing there, scratching their heads in confusion, Xander grunted. “So who’s gonna help me get the vamp home?”

That ended up being a somewhat complicated process, since Spike couldn’t walk. Buffy and Willow ran off to fetch Angel’s SUV. Xander, Angel, and Rupert picked Spike up and carried him to the fairgrounds’ entrance, grumbling the entire way about how heavy he was.When they exited through the gate the girls hadn’t yet returned, so Spike was laid down on a grassy bit next to the road. He was surprised and pleased when Xander sat down and cradled his head in his lap. “You gonna be okay?” Xander asked worriedly.

“Expect so. None of the rest of me’s gone numb.”

“Will … will the paralyzed parts get better?”

It was hard to shrug when half your body wouldn’t cooperate. “Dunno. Probably.”

Xander bit at his lower lip and then brushed a strand of hair from Spike’s face. Spike couldn’t recall the last time he’d been touched so tenderly. It was lovely, even under the circumstances. “You’re not hurt?” Spike asked him. It was difficult for him to see Xander’s face,a bright streetlight behind him creating a halo effect.

“Nope,” Xander replied. He stroked Spike’s hair absentmindedly and craned his neck to look down the street. “I wish they’d hurry up and get here.”

Spike didn’t share that wish because he was surprisingly comfortable—his wounds didn’t actually hurt, Xander's fingertips still rested gently in his hair, and Spike certainly wasn’t looking forward to convalescing alone in his flat. But a few minutes later the SUV pulled to a halt in front of them with a screech of tires. Xander and Angel lifted Spike into the back and Xander climbed in to crouch beside him while everyone else crammed into the seats, Angel behind the wheel.

“You live on Twenty-third Street, right?” Angel called back to Spike. None of them except Xander had ever visited Spike’s flat.

But before Spike could answer, Xander said, “We’re going to my house.”

The truck pulled away from the curb and Spike peered up at Xander through the darkness. “Why?” Spike asked.

Xander grinned. “You promised you’d come over and hang out for a while. Don’t think a little near-final-death episode is gonna get you out of that, buster.”  
  
[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/318234.html)


	3. Chapter 3

  
** Three **

Spike was feeling cared for, and it was lovely.

He’d been hauled into Xander’s house—into his bedroom, in fact—and deposited on Xander’s unmade bed. Then there had been some discussion in the front room amongst the Scoobies, but Spike hadn’t bothered to listen. He was comfortable and surrounded by Xander’s scent and nothing was currently trying to dust him, and that was good enough.

Not too much later the front door slammed. Spike began to doze off but was roused by the scent of warm blood. Now he pried his eyes open to discover Xander standing at the side of the bed, freshly showered, an oversized mug in hand. “Want some?” Xander asked.

Spike groaned because he did want some but drinking it seemed like too much effort. 

Xander chuckled, set the mug on the nightstand, and helped Spike into a seated position. He propped him with pillows so he wouldn’t topple over and then, when Spike reached shakily for the cup with his off hand, Xander helped hold the mug to his lips.

“Want more?” he asked when the mug was drained.

“Not now. Why do you have cow blood, Xander?”

“Gus the butcher gave it to me this morning.”

“But why?”

Xander’s face pinked slightly. “ ’Cause I was hoping you’d come over tonight. And it only seemed polite to have the right provisions when playing host to a vampire.”

“Oh,” was all Spike said, although his thoughts were racing. 

Xander stood uncertainly for a moment, scratching his head, and then seemed to reach a decision. “Uh, you’re kind of a mess. I have a first aid kit—wanna play doctor?”

Spike’s first reaction was to remind the boy that he didn’t need a first aid kit; he’d likely mend just fine with time and more blood. But then the rest of what Xander had said registered, along with the boy’s lopsided grin. Spike smiled back. “Have at me, Doc.”

Xander proved more apt at vampire care than Spike expected. He helped Spike ease out of the duster, and when Spike sighed unhappily over the condition of the sleeve, Xander gave him a reassuring pat. “I bet a good leather repair place can take care of that.” He set the coat aside with surprising reverence.

Next off were Spike’s boots, which Xander placed against one wall. Then he looked down at Spike’s shirt thoughtfully. “I think I’d better just cut it away.”

“Go ahead.” Spike didn’t care. He had a drawer full of identical black tees at home. 

Xander’s hands were warm as they peeled the shirt away, moving with careful deliberation; he winced a bit when Spike’s wounds were fully revealed. But the wounds didn't bother Spike as his arm was still completely numb—instead he was distracted by Xander’s breaths puffing against the skin of his chest and his soft hair tickling Spike’s neck. As Xander dabbed a damp cloth at the deep gouges, blotting away the dried blood, Spike closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

The boy smelled lovely.

It was only when Xander pulled away, gnawed at his lip a bit, and eyed the lower half of Spike’s body that Spike realized his own dilemma. In a moment the ruined jeans would be stripped away and Xander would see that Spike was sporting a rather substantial hard-on. That is, assuming he hadn’t sussed it out already. Spike hastily began to concoct an explanation, some tale about how the Trinekli venom was making all the cow’s blood pool in his dick. Xander might believe that.

But when Xander unbuttoned Spike’s trousers Spike could feel the pressure of fingers through the denim and he moaned. He braced himself for the boy’s horrified reaction. That was his true phobia, he knew—being rejected by those he cared about—and it scared him far more than Wee Willie Winkie ever had.

When Xander simply continued to undress him, Spike opened his eyes again.

Xander was eyeing Spike’s erection and licking his lips. His eye sparkled between green and brown and his expression was anything but horrified.

“Oh,” Spike said softly.

Xander cleared his throat. “My motives when I invited you over tonight … um … they weren’t exactly pure.”

“Oh?” Spike repeated, this time with an eyebrow raised.

“I was hoping … I kinda thought … maybe we could … um …”

“You were hoping we could shag.”

Xander blushed. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t know you fancied blokes.”

“I … I really do like girls, all right? A lot. But there’ve been a few guys too.” Xander rubbed his fingers against his scalp. “Just a few. Hell, there haven’t been all that many girls either. My life is kinda … complicated. But the last few months the two of us have been pretty friendly and … and I sorta noticed you. Not that I never noticed you before, but now …”

“You finally realized I’m dead sexy,” Spike offered.

Xander smiled. “I think I finally got past the dead part and really saw the sexy.” Then his face fell as he looked at Spike’s motionless limbs. “Not that it’s worked out especially well tonight.”

Spike was feeling more than a bit dizzy, and it wasn’t the injuries that were to blame. Xander wanted him. And that was a convenient thing, given that Spike inexplicably, desperately wanted Xander. He smiled back. “Why don’t you finish what you began, yeah? We’ll have a kip and perhaps by the afternoon I’ll be a bit more mobile.”

That response seemed to please Xander, who also appeared happy to note that Spike’s arousal hadn’t flagged at all. In fact, as Xander cut the jeans away and tended to the wounds in Spike’s leg—his touch definitely lingering on the good leg longer than necessary—Spike’s cock hardened so completely as to be painful.

When Xander was finished tending to Spike, he helped him lie flat and began to pull the blankets over him. He stopped at Spike’s knees, though, eyeing him speculatively. “You know,” he said, “I could take care of that and you wouldn’t have to move an inch. If you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

“God yes,” Spike said, feeling as if a prayer had been answered.

Xander rearranged Spike’s legs, splaying them farther apart so he could kneel between them on the mattress. Then he bent down and stroked his calloused fingers very lightly along Spike’s throbbing shaft.

“Fuck,” said Spike.

Xander chuckled. “Not tonight, honey.” Then he couldn’t speak anymore because his tongue was running the length of Spike’s cock, warm and wet and soft, and Spike quickly forgot all about Trinekli and paralysis and phobias. His entire universe shrank to the size of Xander’s mattress, and Christ what a brilliant world it was.

He reached down with his operational hand and ran his fingers through Xander’s hair. It was as soft as he’d imagined, thick, and a little tangled. He liked the darkness of it against his own pale skin. Even more, though, he liked the sight of Xander fully dressed, his eye closed in concentration as he lavished attention on Spike’s greedy cock while Spike lay naked and exposed and even a bit helpless. It was a situation just tawdry enough to push all the buttons poncy William would have denied possessing, kinky enough to make the demon purr.

Spike whimpered when the head of his cock slipped between Xander’s lips, then bucked slightly when a broad fingertip slid down his perineum and lightly touched his hole. Either Xander had more practice with blokes than he’d admitted or he was a natural, because he was playing Spike exactly right. Just a bit of pressure and a careful scrape of teeth and Spike was shouting out his climax.

Xander sat back on his heels, licking Spike’s come from his lips and looking mightily pleased with himself. As well he might, Spike thought groggily.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing that,” Xander said.

“Glad you stopped imagining and opted for the real thing.”

“Me too.” Xander grabbed the towel he’d used on Spike’s wounds and used a clean bit to wipe Spike’s groin. Solicitous of him, Spike thought, and then he smiled broadly as Xander tucked him in. 

“Mind if we share the bed?” Xander asked. “I’m kinda wiped.”

Spike most definitely did not mind. In fact, he could think of very few things he’d welcome more than that big, warm body beside him, making the bed all toasty with that lovely body heat. Spike had been sleeping alone for so long.

But when Xander tugged off his shirt and turned to toss it aside, Spike gasped. “Your back!”

Xander twisted his neck in a vain attempt to look for himself. “What?”

“You said you weren’t hurt!”

“They’re just scratches. I get hurt worse than this all the time.”

They didn’t look like scratches; they looked like a dozen or more long gouges. Spike chided himself for getting so overcome with lust that he hadn’t smelled the dried blood. “Those need looking after,” Spike said.

“Fine. But later. Really, Spike, they just sting a little. I washed them in the shower and if I try to fuck around with them now they’re just gonna start hurting worse. I can deal in the morning.” He pushed his sweatpants and boxers down his hips with one impatient movement and then stepped out of his clothing completely. His cock was slightly erect and impressively large. 

Spike found himself licking his lips and then shook his head impatiently at his own distraction. “Why aren’t you paralyzed?” he demanded.

Xander turned off the light and crawled into bed beside him. “I have no idea. Maybe I’m immune. Once Tony took a stab at sobriety. Didn’t last long, but while it did he decided I should be a Cub Scout and he made me go camping. Every other kid in my pack ended up with a nasty case of poison oak, but not me, even though I was touching the leaves as much as anyone.” As he spoke he scooted closer so that Spike could reach over and rest his working hand on Xander’s bare hip.

“These were demons, Xander, not plants.”

“I know. But maybe it’s sort of the same principle.” He sighed, his breath tickling the side of Spike’s face. “But speaking of plants …”

“What?”

“Um … you know that magic rosebush tonight?”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and then Xander whispered, “I think maybe I did that.”

“Did what?”

“Made it grow.”

Spike turned his head and squinted at Xander’s face, which was not very far away. Xander was biting his lip nervously, as if he were afraid of Spike’s response.

“Has Red been giving you mojo lessons?”

“No! I don’t really like magic all that much, Spike. I mean, after that time with Sweet I figured dabbling was a pretty bad idea.”

Spike was knackered, sore, and still riding the last waves of post-orgasmic happiness. He was in no mood for confusing conversations or games of Twenty Questions. “What are you going on about, pet?”

Xander’s lips quirked a bit at the endearment, but then he sobered. “That demon … it almost killed you. I wasn’t doing much damage with my stupid knife, and Buffy and the others were all busy and … and I had to stop it. So I did.”

“So you just conjured up a convenient bramble?” Spike asked unbelievingly.

“I think so.”

“But _how_?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t even have time to think, you know? You were almost … and I just … I don’t _know_.” Xander sounded plaintive and exhausted and baffled, and it was all far too much for Spike to manage at once.

“Let’s talk about this after we’ve rested, yeah?” he said gently.

Xander nodded and closed his eye, and within minutes he was softly snoring.

***

Spike was the first to wake. Xander must have taken care that the bedroom curtains were closed the night before, because no sunlight had managed to sneak in to immolate the vampire. The bed was as warm and comfortable as Spike had hoped, and Xander was snuggled up so closely that he’d drooled a bit on Spike’s shoulder; Spike didn’t mind. One of Xander’s arms was wrapped around Spike’s waist. 

Spike was almost afraid to try, but when he finally made the effort to move his limbs he discovered that much of the paralysis had worn off. His injured arm and leg still felt heavy and sluggish and his fingers didn’t work quite right yet, but he could move. Could probably walk if he wanted to. Right now, though, he didn’t want to. Instead, he reached over and skimmed the fingertips of his right hand along Xander’s hair, not quite petting him but almost.

After a few minutes, Xander blinked his eye open and Spike was momentarily terrified. Would Xander be horrified when he realized who was sharing his bed? Was the night before a fluke to be regretted and forgotten? But Spike’s fears were put to rest almost immediately when Xander smiled. “Mornin’,” he said with a yawn.

“Early afternoon, more like.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. See?” Spike wiggled his left-hand fingers.

Xander grabbed Spike’s waving hand and kissed the knuckles. “Good.” He started to get up and Spike grabbed at him.

“Don’t go,” Spike said, hoping he didn’t sound pathetic.

“Be right back. Full bladders are a human limitation, remember?”

Spike regretfully let him go, but was consoled a bit by the view of Xander’s lovely arse. Besides, it wasn’t very long before Xander was trotting back into the room and diving back under the blankets. His mouth smelled like spearmint.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Spike asked, amused.

“Anya hated it when I kissed her with morning breath. Or early afternoon breath, as the case may be.”

Spike waggled an eyebrow. “So you’re assuming there’ll be snogging, are you?”

“I’m feeling fairly optimistic about it.”

What followed next wasn’t anything like what Spike had expected. They shagged all right. But it wasn’t the clumsy fumbling of new lovers, nor the fiery passion of two people who’d been waiting for ages to get at one another. It was slow and sensuous and a bit playful; it was lazy and sweet. It was the kind of sex a couple had after years of experience with one another, when urgency had long faded but had been replaced by a thorough knowledge of what would make a partner sigh and moan and clutch at the bed sheets. It was, Spike realized as he basked in the afterglow, making love.

“Wow,” Xander breathed.

Spike smiled. He’d been trying to work out how he could ask Xander whether sex was always like that with him, but Xander’s stunned reaction—which mirrored his own—suggested that this had been something special.

“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that all this time,” said Xander. “I mean lately it’s been pretty much a solo show for me, and instead we could have been … wow.”

“You used to hate me,” Spike pointed out.

“I wasn’t your favorite person either. And anyway, I haven’t hated you for a really long time. Heck, my feeling for you faded to mild annoyance even before we left Sunnydale.”

“Git,” Spike answered and squirmed more comfortably against his body.

After a pause, Xander said, “I should probably get up.”

“Why?”

Xander had to think about this for a moment. “Aren’t you hungry? You’re still convalescing and I have more blood in the fridge.”

Spike was hungry, in fact, but too comfortable and sex-sated to care. “Later.”

Xander didn’t argue, and he didn’t try to squirm away as Spike snuffled contentedly at his neck. Xander didn’t even flinch when Spike licked at his pulse point, and that made Spike wonder whether his boy would be willing to try a nibble. But later. Right now a nap was better.

They dozed in one another’s arms for a long time. Sometimes Spike woke up enough to stare in mild amazement at Xander, and sometimes when Spike opened his eyes Xander was staring at him. Spike couldn’t remember ever feeling this content before. He was almost bloody glowing with it.

The afternoon crept by; it was early evening when Xander finally sat up and yawned and stretched. “Bladder again. And I really gotta eat.”

Reluctantly, Spike sat as well. He wasn’t entirely recovered but he felt strong enough. Another pint or two of blood and he’d likely be fully mended. “Is your shower big enough for two?”

“If you don’t mind a little squishing. _I_ don’t mind a little squishing.”

“Brilliant.” Already formulating evil schemes for what he might do once his boy was all wet and soapy, Spike grabbed Xander’s head and pulled him in close for a snog. Xander’s hands latched onto Spike’s shoulders, while Spike clutched handfuls of dark hair.

“Bloody hell!” Spike cried, pulling away abruptly.

“What?” Xander’s eye was wide with alarm.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Was what?”

Spike tugged at Xander’s head again, this time parting the hair with his fingers. “Bloody _hell_!” he repeated when he got a good look.

Xander had grown a pair of small horns.  
  
[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/318591.html)


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Strangely enough, the bloke who’d recently grown horns was the calmest person in the room. Willow and her witchy girlfriend were twittering about, alternately fussing over Xander and googling things. The Watcher was leafing through a stack of dusty books, stopping every now and then to cast anxious looks in Xander’s direction, as if the boy might grow a second head at any moment. The Slayer and Angel were eyeing Xander as well, frowning and clearly wondering if he might require slaying. Which was why Spike had placed himself protectively in front of his boy, ready to dismember anyone who came too close. His fangs were itching inside his gums.

But Xander was sprawled in the armchair like always, smiling the smile of a man who’d recently had a brilliant shag. Occasionally he reached up and touched the small horns that now protruded from his scalp, their tips just barely visible through his hair. He didn’t seem upset by their existence; in fact, Spike thought he detected a hint of pride in Xander’s demeanor, as if he’d accomplished something especially clever.

“I don’t understand,” Willow said for the umpteenth time. “People don’t just suddenly … grow stuff.”

“Maybe I’m just horny,” Xander said with a silly grin and a glance in Spike’s direction. Angel’s frown deepened, and Spike saw with precise clarity the moment his sire sussed out what had recently developed between Spike and Xander. Angel opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, then closed it with an audible snap. He glared at Spike so murderously that Spike half expected to burst into flames.

Willow was oblivious to the little drama. “Are you sure it’s not a side effect of the demon venom?” she asked.

Rupert removed his glasses and sighed. “Quite. Just as I was certain the last four times you asked me. Trinekli poison paralyzes and kills. There is no recorded instance of it causing … protrusions.”

Xander giggled.

Buffy stood and crossed her arms on her chest. “Fine. If it’s not the demon goo it’s gotta be something else. If we make with the research long enough we’ll figure it out.”

“Look, guys,” Xander said calmly. “I feel fine. It’s not that big a deal. If my horns grow any bigger I’m gonna have some explaining to do at work, but right now I can just wear a hat and nobody will care. Arnie the bakery manager wears a hat all the time and that’s just to cover his bald spot.”

“But … this isn’t _normal_ , Xan,” said Willow.

“Normal? I’m still the most normal one in the room—sorry Giles, but you know it’s true—and I don’t see what’s so great about normal anyway.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop with the horns?” Willow pointed out. “What if you grow a tail or something next?”

Xander wiggled slightly in his chair and Spike had a vivid image of a long, sinuous tail wrapping around his legs as they shagged. Huh. There was a kink he hadn’t realized he possessed. But Xander sighed heavily and rubbed at a horn once more. “Fine. You want the whole 411? I’ll give it to you. But I still say it’s not a thing.”

Everyone in the room leaned forward with interest. Everyone but Spike, who clenched his hands into fists and prepared to take action should any of the Scoobies attack Xander over the coming revelations. Xander glanced up at Spike and gave him a grateful smile, as if he’d noticed Spike’s concern.

“So you remember that Wild Hunt thing Spike and I did,” Xander began.

“Rather difficult to forget,” said Rupert.

“Yep. So, well, I liked it. Riding on that horse, chasing the stag across the countryside. It was fun, but it was also familiar. Primal. It felt like something I’ve done a thousand times before. Like when I clock in at work.”

“Why?” Buffy asked accusingly.

“I’m not exactly sure. At first I thought it was ’cause of that hyena spirit. She left me with sort of a taste for stuff like that. But once I actually got on the horse it was more than just that. It was … I was suddenly kind of … more. I guess.”

“More?” Rupert’s voice was sharp.

Xander sighed again—not actually aggrieved, but finding the entire subject tiresome. Then he quickly cataloged his recent changes: the ease he’d felt on horseback, even though he’d never ridden before; his recent knack for horticulture; the bit with the magic rosebush; and, of course, the horns. “Oh,” he added, with a leer in Spike’s direction and not so much as a hint of a blush, “and I totally have the hots for Spike.”

Most of Xander’s audience gasped at that—except for Angel, whose glower deepened. But Spike ducked his head to hide a smile, because his boy was being open with his friends about his attraction, which was more than Spike had hoped for. 

“Spike?” Willow asked in a voice an octave above her usual.

“Spike,” Xander confirmed, and tugged hard at Spike’s arm so that Spike toppled down into his lap. Xander wrapped his arm around Spike’s waist. “And considering all the inappropriate and/or fatal relationships almost everyone in this room has had in the past, no one gets to bitch about it.”

Willow's voice was gentle, as if she were explaining to a young child that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. “But it’s probably just ... part of the magics.”

“Feels real enough to me,” Xander answered firmly, punctuating his statement with a squeeze of Spike’s middle. “Feels pretty damn real.”

Spike wanted to tear off every shred of Xander’s clothing and shag until neither of them could walk. There was a pleasantly warm feeling in his chest, the feeling of being acknowledged, of being _wanted_. It had been a bloody long time since he’d felt it, and he didn’t much care whether mojo was the cause of it because it felt real to him too. But now wasn’t quite the time to demonstrate his gratitude to Xander, at least not fully. Instead, Spike stroked Xander’s stubbled jaw. “ ’S another thing, innit? You’ve become bloody confident all of a sudden, haven’t you?”

Xander grinned and squeezed him again. “I just know what I want and I’m not gonna let it slip away.”

“Jesus Christ,” Angel muttered, but Buffy punched his arm, hard.

“Knock it off,” she said. “Xander’s happy. I never would’ve expected Spike to be happy-making-vamp, but whatever. Xander’s earned it. God, maybe even Spike’s earned it.”

Such support from an unexpected quarter was enough to make the others shrug and turn their attention back to the real matter at hand: sussing out what had happened to Xander.

Long, silent minutes passed. Spike leaned back into Xander’s embrace, Rupert returned to his ancient tomes, and the witches bent their heads over their laptop. Angel and Buffy engaged in a war of angry looks, and Spike considered telling the old sod to just give it up—the Slayer had won before they even began—but he was so warm and comfortable and just plain content that even baiting his sire seemed like too much effort.

Spike had fallen into a light doze, Xander’s fingertips tracing soothing little circles on the denim above his knee, when Willow gasped. “Goddess!”

“What?” demanded several people at once.

“I think I know what’s happened to Xan.”

“Out with it already, woman,” snapped Spike.

She nodded and swallowed. “Um, I think Xander’s the Oak King.”

***

The explanations didn’t come at once. There was a lot more fact-checking to be done, on computers and in books, and many worried glances cast Xander’s way, until finally Xander yawned and complained, “I’m hungry.”

Rupert shooed him impatiently toward the kitchen, where Spike supervised as Xander made a sandwich and poured himself a glass of orange juice. “You want something too?” Xander asked him.

“Just you. Alone.”

“Yeah, me too. Let the gang get the exposition out of their system first and then we’re out of here.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Your place or mine? ’Cause it’s still pretty warm outside, and I was hoping to do some work on my house tomorrow. I want to clear away all those weeds and put in a garden.”

“You really have grown a green thumb.”

Xander examined his flesh-toned digits and smiled. “Not yet. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve got a pretty good-sized yard, so I could plant a few fruits trees and some veggies, maybe some flowers. I’m thinking I might put in a butterfly garden on the west side and see if a purple martin house’ll help keep the mosquito population down. You’re the only bloodsucker I want around.”

Spike could only shake his head in fond bemusement.

By the time Xander had finished rinsing his dishes, the others were calling for him. He grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him back into the living room, where everyone was waiting, staring at Xander as if they’d never seen him before. “So?” asked Xander as he sank into his favorite chair. He again pulled Spike into his lap.

“The Oak King,” began Willow in a slightly schoolmarmish tone, “is one of the aspects of the Green Man.”

“Is that like the Blue Men? I could have a show in Vegas.”

“The _Green_ Man,” Willow continued patiently, “is a pagan figure with two aspects: the Holly King and the Oak King. The Holly King is in charge from the summer solstice until winter solstice, and then the Oak King takes over.”

“During the Wild Hunt,” Spike said with dawning understanding.

“Maybe. In some versions of the story. And the Oak King, his aspects are growth, new beginnings. And, um … sex.”

“I think I like this guy,” Xander said with a grin.

Spike elbowed him in the ribs. “ _This guy_ is you, git.”

“All the better.”

Buffy put her hands on her hips. “So how’d this tree guy take over our Xander?”

Spike scowled at her. Xander was _his_ Xander. “Xander became the Oak King when he joined the Hunt, yeah?”

“Yes,” the Watcher confirmed. “We believe that’s what occurred.”

“And why him?” Spike patted Xander’s knee. “Not that you don’t make a lovely pagan deity, love, and I can certainly understand why it wasn’t me, but why not one of those lorry drivers who were killed in Wyoming? Why not anyone else the Hunt passed that night?”

Xander was as calm as he’d been all evening. “I bet it’s ’cause I was possessed before. The hyena, the soldier … the Xander supernatural-being hotel was already open.”

Rupert shrugged. “Perhaps. And as you’ve noticed yourself, you apparently possess some sort of attraction for …” He cut his eyes towards Spike.

“For the humanity-challenged,” Xander finished agreeably. “Got it. Usually it sucks but this time I think I hit the paranormal jackpot. Am I gonna get any more cool powers? And do I get deposed in June?”

“I don’t know. Just take care, please. The spring equinox is a few days from now and the Oak King is at the peak of his influence then. I have no idea what that will mean for you.”

“Got it.” Xander shoved Spike off his lap—not especially gently—then stood and stretched. “So now that everyone’s satisfied that I’m not turning into anything evil, I have a vampire who needs ravishing. Can’t neglect my kingly duties, can I?”

Spike was all in favor of that scheme. He hurried his boy out the door before anyone could protest.

 [Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/318828.html)

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

Spike murmured his question into the soft skin of Xander’s neck. “How can you be taking all of this so calmly?” Before Xander could answer, Spike stuck out his tongue and licked at the thin film of sweat, making his boy groan.

Xander moved Spike’s hand to his half-hard cock, which was still sticky from semen and slick. “Little Xander’s anything but calm, Spike. I haven’t had this much action since Anya, and you still have my engine revving.”

“Not what I meant,” Spike said, giving the organ in question a friendly little squeeze. “And let’s take a bit of a breather, yeah? Even demons have our limits.”

“Apparently vegetative royalty doesn’t.”

“Mm.” Spike squirmed a bit, settling more comfortably against the warm, solid body. He was already becoming familiar with that body, accustomed to the way it moved, the way it felt. “But the Xander Harris I once knew would be pitching fits about shagging me, let alone becoming the Oak King.”

“Yeah, he would. But I’ve grown up. And Jesus, Spike, I feel good. You feel good. It’s … Look. If I’m making things grow and helping fight demons and getting some really good nooky in the process, what’s to bitch about? Not that you’re just nooky, you know.” His face grew serious as he turned to look at Spike. “I want you to know that. The sex is mind-blowing and all, but I feel like we have more than that. And I guess maybe the Green Man is a great big girl because I’m usually not so much with the talking about feelings, but this is important. I like being with you, Spike. Even when we have our clothes on.”

Spike’s throat felt thick. In all his long existence, there had been very few people who wanted to be with him, and most of those few wanted something from him. A caretaker, a sparring partner, a fellow at arms. Xander, it seemed, just wanted _him_. “Ponce,” Spike said gruffly, and Xander laughed.

“And if I go back to being ordinary Xander in June?” Xander asked.

“Never reckoned you were all that ordinary,” admitted Spike.

Xander kissed his forehead.

When the sun was high overhead, Xander got out of bed and threw on some grubby clothes. Spike meant to loll about a while longer, but he found himself wandering to the little room at the back of Xander’s house. It had once been a porch, but at some point it had been enclosed and now housed Xander’s washer and dryer, as well as a ratty old couch and a shelf full of tools. Spike stood safely out of reach of the light that poured in through the room’s windows and he watched Xander toil in the back yard, weeding and digging. Even through the closed door, Spike could hear his boy humming happily as he worked.

Spike was feeling sorry for himself, stuck in the shadows as always. He’d never much enjoyed manual labor, but he reckoned he’d be content now if he could work beside Xander, throwing shovelfuls of soil about while the sun warmed his back and arms. And just as he was sighing for the fourth or fifth time, Xander glanced over his shoulder and spied Spike. He smiled and waved and dropped his trowel, and then he loped to the back door. A moment later he was bursting inside and gathering Spike’s still-bare body in his arms. Xander smelled wonderful, like good sweat and new life.

“You’re getting me dirty,” Spike said with false pique.

“I guess we’ll just have to clean you off then.”

***

Somehow, Spike ended up staying at Xander’s house for the next couple of days. He swung by his own flat only long enough to fetch clean clothes, and when he did, his flat seemed very cold and empty.During the days, Xander went to work—hat in place to hide his horns—while Spike slept and rifled through his boy’s belongings and watched telly. And because no apocalypses seemed imminent, they left the patrolling to the Scoobies, instead spending their nights together, teasing and laughing and shagging. Xander made a thousand bad jokes about the Oak King’s woodies, and Spike didn’t mind because that horrible humor confirmed that whatever identity had possessed Xander, Spike’s boy was still fundamentally Xander Harris. Xander smiled a lot and so did Spike.

On the evening of March 20, Rupert informed them that he’d heard rumors of something nasty brewing near York, an hour’s drive from Lincoln. To Spike’s surprise, Xander volunteered the two of them for duty.

“What were you thinking?” Spike growled as they made their way to Xander’s little Ford. “We could have stayed home. That flavored slick I ordered arrived by post today and—”

“I have to,” Xander said apologetically, folding himself behind the steering wheel.

“Why? The Slayer could have gone or—”

“Yeah, any of them could have gone, but I _had_ to. I have … I have itchy trigger fingers, Spike. I can feel all this power sort of thrumming in me, and the sex and the planting and all, that’s been really great, but I need more. I need … I need to, to … _do_ something. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t yet started the engine. “You don’t have to come.”

“You think I’d let you face Christ knows what all by yourself?”

“I don’t think I need protecting, Spike. Not now.”

Spike sighed, long and loud, knowing Xander was right. “You can protect me then.”

“I would.” Xander’s face was perfectly serious, and he placed a warm hand on Spike’s left knee. “I will.”

“I know.” There had been times when others had Spike’s back. Angel rescued him that time the barmy Slayer chopped off Spike’s arms, and Buffy saved him from the First. Even Dru had stepped in to save his skin a few times over the decades. But until tonight, Spike had never felt certain that there was anyone on the planet who would risk their own life to protect him. It was a bloody brilliant feeling. He placed his cold hand over Xander’s.

There was nothing much to look at as they drove. Spike and Xander argued good-naturedly over control of the radio until Xander clicked it off and began to sing instead, some country tune that would have been horrible even sung on key, which it wasn’t. And although the lyrics were the usual wife-left-me-pickup’s-stolen-dog-done-died sort, Xander’s rendition was bouncy. Happy.

“Daft git,” Spike mumbled, and Xander laughed and sang louder.

The monsters they were chasing that night were Feeglexis, lumpish demons who fancied fresh meat, although they resorted to humans for dinner only under extraordinary circumstances. This lot had taken over an abandoned farm and were snacking on their neighbors’ livestock. Spike was of the opinion that a few rustled cattle hardly constituted an emergency requiring his and Xander’s services, but the Watcher was afraid that as the locals took to guarding their animals more carefully, the Feeglexis might eventually turn to eating the locals instead. “It’s a prophylactic mission,” Rupert had intoned, and Xander had giggled so hard that Spike thought his boy might choke.

The demons’ farmhouse was a ramshackle two-storey building, centered amongst empty fields and set back from the road by a quarter mile or so. Because they didn’t want to alert the demons of their arrival, Xander parked his car at the side of the road and the two of them walked down the slightly muddy driveway. It had rained lightly during the day but now the sky was clear, its starry tapestry bright above their heads.

“It’s a shame when people let houses fall apart like this,” Xander said quietly, gesturing ahead. “Somebody built this place a hundred years ago and families lived out their lives here.”

“The family likely lost the place to the bank long ago.”

“Yeah. All these hundreds of acres run by agribusiness now.” Xander scowled. “It’s not right. Farming should be a hands-on thing. A farmer should know his land, he should love it and care for it. He shouldn’t tear through it on a half-million-dollar tractor, pumping it full of chemicals and using up all the life in it.”

“That Xander talking or the Oak King?”

“Dunno. It’s not like the king guy is a little voice in my head, Spike. He’s just a part of me.”

“Like my demon,” Spike said. He understood. Long ago William Pratt and a bloodthirsty demon had melded to form what he was now, and he could no more separate those components than he could divide an oxygen molecule into its individual atoms. Nor would he want to. Even years after regaining his soul, he was still haunted by the memories of all those he had harmed for over a century, but he was also comfortable with whom he’d become. He certainly had no desire to revert to that pillock William.

“I never thought I’d be happy about being possessed,” Xander said. “But if I hadn’t been, I don’t know if I’d have had the balls to make a move on you. And I doubt you’d have been interested.”

“Might have been. You’re not a bad sort, really. You’ve grown on me. Like mold.”

Xander pushed Spike hard enough that Spike nearly lost his balance, and then Xander grabbed his arm and pulled him in for a quick, rough kiss. “Asshole,” he said fondly.

They were both silent as they drew nearer the house. No lights showed in the glassless windows, but Feeglexis could see as well as vampires in the dark and rather preferred to skulk in shadows. Spike shuddered slightly. Filthy, scaly creatures that obviously hadn’t taken much of a shine to plumbing either. He caught a whiff of their reek as the breeze blew from the direction of the house.

Most of the wood siding was weathered a soft gray with only flakes of white paint remaining in a few protected spots. The house had a wide front porch littered with empty beer cans, no doubt relics of a party held by the local teens after the bank foreclosed and before the demons moved in. There was also a pile of well-gnawed bones, likely from young cattle. The bones were probably not the teenagers’ doing.

Xander and Spike hadn’t bothered to strategize before they arrived. Neither of them was much good at it, and in Spike’s experience things rarely went according to plan. But he had brought his sword and Xander his knife, and they drew their weapons as they pushed through the partly-open front door.

They found themselves in a rank-smelling room that had probably once been a parlor or living room. A few pieces of furniture remained, the fabric half rotted and the springs showing through; a thick layer of dust covered everything except the pathway the demons had trod across the bare floorboards. “Martha Stewart would not approve,” Xander said in a tiny whisper. Spike shot him a glare and waved at him to follow.

Spike tracked the demons by their scent: through the parlor and down a hall, into a dining room with an upended table and then a kitchen that was nothing more than splintered cupboards and gouged linoleum, and to a door that was smeared with layers of dried blood. “Cellar,” Xander said with an unhappy sigh. Not a location either of them would have chosen for a fight.

Spike was going to suggest that they leave the house, set it on fire, and catch the demons as they ran, but he knew Xander would never agree to it. Rupert had already informed them that Feeglexis sometimes kept human captives as a sort of back-up larder, so it was possible that someone was trapped in the basement. And to be honest, Spike wasn’t especially keen on the possibility of killing a human either. His soul could be a bloody nuisance at times.

Xander was the first down the stairs. He had to go slowly in the nearly total darkness and there was no question that the demons must have heard Spike and Xander as they descended—the steps creaked and groaned with every movement.

Still, Spike felt fairly confident. Feeglexis weren’t especially good fighters and would not be expecting a vampire and the Oak King. A few blade swings and he and Xander would be speeding on their way back to Lincoln, back to Xander’s big bed and that bottle of strawberry-kiwi slick.

Spike was considering whether he was in the mood to top or bottom when something slammed into his skull. He fell—knocking Xander down the stairs for good measure—and everything went black.  
  
[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/319730.html)

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

“This was a stupid idea.”

Xander sighed and pressed his lips to Spike’s aching head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Your wrist all right?”

“Sprained. I won’t be jacking off for a little while, I guess.”

“You’ve me for that, love.”

“That’s a major consolation. Assuming we survive, that is.”

Spike swore and rattled the iron bars for the hundredth time—again to no avail. Their survival was looking rather questionable at the moment.

He’d blacked out after the Feeglexis had hit him on the head and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he regained consciousness in the cellar cage. Xander had apparently been dazed by the fall as well, and the demons had managed to divest them of their weapons and lock them up before Spike or Xander had a chance to fight back. Xander’s mobile phone was gone too.

The Scoobies knew where they were and would doubtless raise a rescue party once they realized Spike and Xander hadn’t returned. The problem was that the realization would only hit them the following evening—and in the meantime the Feeglexis were sharpening knives and eyeing their captives hungrily.

“Maybe they don’t like to eat vampires,” Xander suggested. “Not fresh enough.”

“Oi! ’M plenty fresh.”

Xander licked Spike’s earlobe. “And I think you’re pretty tasty myself. But seriously, these guys seem a little slow on the uptake. Maybe when they figure out you’re undead they’ll let you go.”

Spike grunted noncommittally. He knew that if the demons didn’t fancy him for dinner they’d simply dust him. Besides, the two fat ones in the corner were looking at his boy the same way Xander had looked at the filet mignon he’d ordered for dinner two nights earlier, and even if he had the chance, Spike would never abandon Xander to these creatures.

“What about another magic rosebush?” Spike suggested.

“Can’t. I can’t make plants appear out of nowhere. That one at the fairgrounds was already there, although way smaller and less combative. And there’s nothing growing down here but mold. It’s hard to make mold lethal, Spike.”

“There are loads of plants outside, love. That big tree near the front porch and—”

“And they’re outside. This house might be falling down but someone did a damn good job of sealing the basement floor and foundation walls. I can’t get to whatever’s outside.”

Spike growled. Why did magic always have to come with so many frustrating limitations? Xander tugged at him until Spike was nearly cradled in his lap, warm arms surrounding him and soft lips pressing at his temple. “We’ll figure something out,” Xander promised in a whisper. “You want a snack in the meantime? It’d help your head.”

Spike’s thoughts were still a bit slow and it took him a moment or two to process Xander’s words. “ ’M not going to drain you, love.”

“No, you’re not. But I can spare a half pint or so.”

Despite their situation, Spike’s cock twitched and he uttered an involuntary moan. He’d been dreaming of tasting his boy, unwilling to risk damaging their relationship by asking for it but hoping that Xander might offer. Of course, he’d also hoped that the offer would come while they were naked in bed, not while they were imprisoned in a farmhouse cellar by a bunch of odiferous demons. “Don’t want to weaken you,” he said.

“You won’t. And it’ll make you stronger. C’mon, Fang. Have a nibble.” Xander stretched his head invitingly to the side.

Spike’s willpower had its limitations. He shifted his face—which made the Feeglexis squeak in surprise—shifted his position slightly, and carefully sank his teeth into Xander’s neck. He half expected Xander to change his mind and push him away, but instead his boy only grunted softly and held him more tightly.

Xander tasted brilliant: hot and sweet and slightly spicy. And not quite human. There were undertones of something fast and feral—the hyena, no doubt. And the flavor sparkled with life and vitality in a way that made Spike picture verdant jungles and fruit-laden trees; twined, sweaty bodies; sunshine and laughter and the promise of good things to come.

Spike pulled his head away slightly and licked at the twin puncture wounds, but the blood had already slowed to a slight trickle. Xander’s head was leaning against the hard wall and his eye was closed. “Did I take too much?” Spike asked with concern. He’d lost track of time as soon as the taste hit his tongue.

Xander opened his eye, smiled, and shook his head. “You only had a couple swallows.”

“But … I feel as if I’ve had gallons.”

“Eau de Xander. Tastes great _and_ more filling.” Xander seemed a bit smug, which would have been slightly irritating if Spike’s belly weren’t so pleasantly full, his body thrumming with the life he’d borrowed. “And we’re definitely gonna do that more often,” Xander said, moving Spike’s hand to his crotch, where the denim strained over a hard bulge.

Spike’s cock was equally hard. “We have to get out of here, pet.”

After a long pause, Xander nodded. “Yeah. And I kinda have an idea.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s pretty risky.”

Spike glanced at the Feeglexis, who had finished their knife sharpening and were nattering away at each other, glancing at their captives frequently. “So’s delaying much longer.”

“Yeah.” Xander shifted closer and lowered his voice so that Spike had to strain to hear. “Do you still have your lighter on you?”

“Fancy a fag, do we?”

Xander giggled. “Not exactly. I was just thinking that if you stuck a flame right there—” he pointed at the edge of the staircase, which was barely within reach overhead, “those steps would probably go up like fireworks. That wood’s pretty dry. And if the stairs go, the rest of the house is gonna follow pretty quickly, and the demons are gonna be trapped down here.”

“So will we, love.” Spike didn’t feel the need to remind Xander that he was flammable and that Xander under an open flame wasn’t a particularly good idea either.

“I think I can build us a protective … thing.”

“From what?”

“Mold. Nice damp mold. I can make it thick enough to keep out the fire and keep in some oxygen. I think. It’ll be slimy but I don’t think we’ll cook. Probably.”

Xander’s uncertainty wasn’t exactly heartening and Spike didn’t much fancy the scheme, but he couldn’t think of any alternatives, and a pair of the Feeglexis had obtained lengths of wood—table legs, probably—and were busily fashioning the ends into points. “Right,” Spike said.

Xander nodded and frowned in concentration. As Spike watched in fascination, the blackish-green bits on the walls began to grow in size and thickness, until they spread along the floor of their little cell and began to form an uneven roof just over their heads. “Fire?” Xander reminded him impatiently. Spike fumbled the lighter out of his pocket, and Xander heard it snick three times before the flame caught. By then the demons had sussed out that something was up and were moving threateningly toward the cell.

But Spike moved quickly, stretching up to touch the flame to the edge of the steps. As Xander had predicted, the wood immediately caught. The Feeglexis yelped in horror and Xander yanked at Spike’s hand, making them both tumble to the slime-covered floor. “Duck!” Xander shouted over the already-noisy fire.

Spike ducked.

Within seconds, the entire stairway was engulfed in fire and the flames were roaring along the floor joists overhead. The demons were screaming, Xander was coughing, and Spike was wondering if shielding his boy with his body would be a help or a hindrance. But then the roof of mold was completed and Spike and Xander were encased like peas in a pod. The air was warm and close, and Spike stopped breathing so as to save the oxygen for Xander. “I think this is gonna work,” Xander said in a strained voice.

“ ’T’s lovely so far. Best holiday I’ve had in ages.”

“I think I have mold caught in my horns. I’m gonna need to bathe for hours.”

“I’ll join you.”

They huddled together on their knees as the fire roared, the Feeglexis shrieked in agony, and the house thundered and cracked.

“Xan?” Spike said as calmly as possible. “What happens when the house collapses?”

“Hopefully, the two feet of dried mold overhead prove structurally sound enough to not collapse.”

“Ah.” Spike shifted a bit. The demons had stopped wailing. Then another thought struck him. “If it’s strong enough to withstand the fire and the rest, how will we get out once the fire’s gone?”

Xander poked Spike’s side. “Oh, vamp of little faith. I built it, I can break it. Probably.”

Probably was going to have to be good enough. They leaned against one another, startling slightly each time something fell, but their structure held. When Xander finally spoke, his voice sounded lazy. “Maybe I could start a new business making mold houses. Not very aesthetically pleasing, but they might have cheap insurance rates.”

“Are you all right?” Spike asked. Xander sounded exhausted.

“So far. It’s … kinda taking a lot of juice for me to hold things together.”

“Just a bit longer, love.”

Spike lied. It actually took some time for the noises of the fire to abate and the heat to diminish, and by then Xander was leaning all his weight against Spike and his breathing was harsh and ragged. “Gotta … gotta rest,” Xander panted hoarsely.

“ ’S all right, Xan. I reckon the fire’s out.” Spike hoped his guess was accurate. “Let it go,” he added, stroking the hair from Xander’s sweaty brow.

With a long, gasping sigh, Xander collapsed. The mold overhead, which had gone dry and heavy as concrete, cracked, flaked and began to fall apart. Spike draped himself over Xander to protect his lover from falling debris. There were a few loud rumbles and crashes as things shifted, and then, with a final _whoomph_ , they were free.

Spike blinked bits of grit from his eyes and looked around. The two barred walls of their cell still stood, but the remaining two walls, which had been parts of the cellar’s foundation, were broken. Where the low ceiling had once been, there were now only a few charred timbers—and the sky. Xander stirred when a moan escaped Spike’s throat.

“What is it?” Xander asked groggily.

“Blue.”

“Huh?” With great effort, Xander pried his eye open.

“Blue sky, love. ’T’s morning.”

“Oh!” Xander startled as he realized that the only thing saving Spike from the sun’s rays was the small—and rapidly shrinking—shadow of the cellar wall. “Fuck! Okay, I’ll build something again and we’ll—”

“Love, you can barely sit upright.” Summoning more magic—or even ordinary building skills—was clearly out of Xander’s abilities at the moment. Spike sighed. The oak tree in front of the house hadn’t leafed out enough yet to provide protection, and a quarter mile of open sky lay between him and the boot of Xander’s car.

“Jesus, Spike! I can’t—you can’t …” Xander looked about frantically.

“ ’T’s fine, love. You’re safe.”

“But you’re not!”

Spike shrugged. He didn’t much fancy going out in a ball of flames again, but at least he knew that Xander was going to be okay. And this time Spike knew with certainty that he was loved. There were worse ways to end. “I’ve had a good run, Xan. Take good care, yeah?”

Xander’s strangled response was stopped as Spike captured him in a firm kiss. Xander still tasted lovely. Spike rubbed his boy’s horns and broke away to whisper in his ear. “You’re a treasure, love. Man or Oak King, doesn’t matter. I love you.” And, as Xander grabbed at him, Spike ducked away with vampire speed and stepped into the sunlight.

It took him longer than it should have to realize he wasn’t burning.

He opened his eyes slowly, wondering if he’d dusted so quickly this time that he hadn’t even noticed. But there was Xander kneeling in front of him, mouth agape. And there was the sun bright above him, making Spike’s skin tingle with warmth.

Spike’s legs gave way and he landed on his arse. Still in the sunlight, still undead.

“What the hell?” Xander managed to say. “How?”

“Don’t … don’t know.”

But then Spike looked at Xander, with his horns poking through tousled hair, his lips kiss-swollen, and his eye sparkling with wonder, and Spike _did_ know. “ ’T’s you, innit?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve lent me … a bit of life.” Spike didn’t know whether it was Xander’s blood still sparking in his belly that did the job, or just the nearness of the Oak King. He didn’t know whether he’d been granted a one-time grace because today was the spring equinox and the Oak King was at the peak of his powers. But as he tugged Xander to his feet and enveloped him in a strong embrace, Spike knew that he wasn’t dust, that he was standing in the sun with his arms around the man he loved, and that was good enough. That was, indeed, bloody good enough.

_~~~fin~~~_


End file.
